The Study of Stone
by SironaFlett .o.x.o
Summary: Western Drumlins has always had an odd reputation. And as Sherlock and John investigate, they become tangled in a fierce stone maze of mystery, death, time travel and a mysterious man called the Doctor.
1. Western Drumlins

"_**They have the perfect defence system. They are quantum locked. They don't exist when they are being observed. No choice it's a fact of their biology, in the sight of a living thing, they literally turn to stone. And you can't kill a stone. Course, a stone can't kill you either, but then you turn your back, then you blink, and oh yes it can. And I'm sorry, I am very sorry, but it's up to you now."**_

"I was in the middle of a case, Lestrade," Sherlock Holmes said pulling on his latex gloves as DI Greg Lestrade led him and the army doctor to the strange building outside of town.

"Yes, but you'll like this one," Lestrade said. "That's what you like, isn't it, the interesting cases, the ones that are funny?"

"He doesn't have a case," John Watson said as the police officers raised the tape and let them through. "He's just saying that so he doesn't have to be breathing the same air as Anderson."

"That makes a lot more sense," Lestrade said. "Has he fired shots at the wall yet?"

"Oh yes," John said grimly knowing that this month's rent would be higher than usual. "And there are, currently, seven disembowelled rats on my kitchen counter. Where I cook."

"It's an experiment," Sherlock said sulkily as Lestrade showed them to a silver car.

"What do you make of that?" Lestrade said.

Sherlock took one look at it. "New, about 3 months old, the driver is a rather fat man with sweaty hands, so working in a stressful situation. The seats behind look like they've been occupied but by no one heavier than 80 pounds so we have to assume children. Maybe one toddler but difficult to say. The passenger seat has been rarely sat on, so he doesn't carpool nor does he have a wife. So, divorced or widowed, difficult to tell-"

"Rodney Davenport," John said, rifling through some papers that he had found in the glove compartment.

Sherlock looked up and narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Rodney Davenport. 54." John said. "Lives on Marchmont road in Richmond with his three daughters. Accountant."

"How on earth did you know that?" Sherlock asked, perplexed.

John smiled and held out the forms to Sherlock. "Insurance details and a photo of him and his kids." He said.

"We've phoned his estranged wife," Lestrade said. "Apparently, he was taking them up to see their grandmother who loves not far from here. Why they stopped here we have no idea."

"Obvious," Sherlock said.

"Sorry?" Lestrade asked.

"Obvious," Sherlock repeated. "Can I ask, when the car was found, was it still running?"

"No," Lestrade replied.

"Were the keys still in the ignition?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

"Obvious," Sherlock concluded.

"You think they broke down?" John asked.

"Something like that." Sherlock replied.

"It's not the first time this has happened." Lestrade said. "This house has a lot of history of people just disappearing. The local policeman who was investigating it, disappeared less than a month ago. We have no idea where he is. Had to take over."

Sherlock licked his lips.

"Anything?" John asked, shoving the files back into the glove compartment.

"Ten," Sherlock said. "Each as unlikely as the next. Show me the house."

Lestrade nodded and led them into the creaking despairing house. The floorboards were so dusty that even with seven dozen police officers barging through the floor still remained covered in dust. John climbed after Sherlock and the Detective inspector, trying to take everything in. The house was a buzz with noise and electricity and people.

"We found this though." Lestrade said, pointing them into a room. Sherlock entered quietly, his footfalls barely making a noise. John followed and stared at the words written across the wall.

"_BEWARE THE WEEPING ANGELS"_

"_OH, AND DUCK"_

" _REALLY DUCK!"_

"_SALLY SPARROW"_

"_DUCK NOW"_

"_LOVE FROM THE DOCTOR 1969"_

Sherlock was skulking around the room. He found a heavy rock and weighed it in his hands before going over to the broken window and examining it, the cold freezing his breath. Outside was a broken ugly statue of an angel that had lost all sense of shape and form.

"Thoughts?" Lestrade asked.

"Slowly dissolving," Sherlock muttered. "Do we know who Sally Sparrow is?"

"Yes," Lestrade replied. "Actually. She filed a report with the police department before Shippton disappeared. She now owns a rare book shop with her best friends brother. It's called 'Sparrow and Nightingale'."

"How quaint," Sherlock muttered. "John, take note."

"Already doing it," John replied, pulling out his notebook and scribbling the information that they had already gathered.

"And this Doctor," Sherlock said. "Do we know who he is?"

"He's on record," Lestrade said. "But nothing concrete I can tell you."

"There must be something," Sherlock said.

"The last known record of the Doctor was in U.N.I.T in the 1970's," Lestrade said. "I doubt he'd be any help to us now."

Sherlock's jaw tightened. He was thinking, his brow furrowing into a crease. "Mm."

"U.N.I.T?" John asked. "Not the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce?"

"The very same," Lestrade said.

"You know it?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a branch of the British army." John said. "Very hush hush, like Baskerville, but more to do with homeland security. Or should I say world security."

"What aliens?" Lestrade scoffed.

"There are over 2 billion stars in the sky, inspector," Sherlock said, leaning down to check the skirting boards. "Each one has the potential to preserve life. Simple logic."

Lestrade rolled his eyes moving away from the private detective as Sally Donovan entered the room.

"Hello freak," She said.

"Sally," Sherlock said, not looking around.

"Sir," Sally turned to Lestrade. "There's something odd in the basement, I think you should see."

Sherlock looked up. "Show me."

Sally looked pleadingly over at Lestrade. "Can we not go one case without bringing the freaks in?"

"They are just consulting," Lestrade replied. Sally sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Come on then," She muttered leading them downstairs and into the basement. She clicked on the lights and in the middle of the room stood four very large angels, teeth baring and staring at each other.

"So?" Lestrade asked. "They're just statues."

"Yeah, but look at them!" Sally said.

"Not exactly a great piece of artwork," John observed as Sherlock moved between them.

"And not displayed," Sherlock said. "Doesn't that seem a bit odd, Detective?"

Lestrade sighed. "Have you got anything useful?" He asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Give me until this afternoon," He said. "I should have something of use then."

Lestrade nodded stiffly as Sherlock and John moved away. John tucked his notebook into his pocket.

"So, where are we going?" He asked.

"You are going to go visit Sally Sparrow," Sherlock said. "Ask her everything to do with Western Drumlins and this Doctor. And these weeping angels. Text me when you get the details."

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"To visit my brother." Sherlock said.

"Well, could you warn me when the missiles launch and cause a nuclear war? I built a bunker for it in our attic," John said.

Sherlock stopped, his hands in his pockets. "Sarcasm?"

"Sarcasm." John nodded approvingly.


	2. Sally Sparrow

Sparrow and Nightingale was an odd little shop, stacked with books and books ranging from medical journals – to which John took a keen interest in looking at – to 18th century gothic fiction. He tapped the bell and waited politely at the desk as a young blonde woman stepped out from behind the shop.

"Hello," She said.

"Hello," John replied. She sat down at the desk and pushed aside one of the books that she was reading.

"How can I help you?" She asked. "We just got a really good interesting pile of scientific books from the Edwardian era in,"

"No thank you," John said. "I'm actually looking for someone."

The woman's behaviour changed in an instant. "LARRY!" She called.

"No, not Larry," John said hastily.

"Sorry I thought you were one of his friends." The woman said. "Who are you looking for?"

"Erm… Sally Sparrow?" John asked, checking his notes.

Her demeanour changed again, now more defensive. "Yeah, that's me. What do you want?"

"My name is Dr John Watson," John said. "I'm helping the police on an investigation and we have a feeling that you might be the key."

Sally raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What about?"

"Ever been to a place called Western Drumlins?" John asked.

Sally looked around the empty store room. "Yes." She said.

"Can you tell me how?"

"What here? Are you mad?" Sally asked. She got off the stool and found a set of keys from under the desk before going over to the door and locking it. She switched off the lights and looked over at John. She sighed. "What do you know about Western Drumlins?" She asked.

"That it's a big scary house with a fixation on angels," John said. "Beyond that, not a lot."

"Why?" She asked.

"People have been going missing." John said.

"People?" Sally asked. "No, that's not possible."

"It is, and something tells me you are involved." John said.

"Shut up, I stopped that, weeks ago. I finished it. It ended." Sally said. "I lost my best friend and so many in such a short space of time. I put a stop to it."

John was frowning. "What did you stop?" He asked.

"Come with me," Sally said taking his hand and leading him through the store. "Larry?" She pulled him behind the desk and up the stairs to a small staff room where a tall gangly man sat watching TV with his feet up on the desk.

"Sally?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

"Larry, this is John Watson." Sally introduced the army doctor in a flourish. "He… He wants to know about Western Drumlins."

Larry pulled his feet off the table. "Why?" He asked.

"People have been going disappearing," John said, becoming increasingly aware of the weight of the gun he was carrying in his pocket.

"No, we put a stop to that. The Doctor put a stop to that," Larry scoffed. He looked over at Sally. "Didn't he?"

"Sorry, what's going on?" John asked. "Who's this Doctor anyway? What did he stop?"

Sally bit her lips and reached for a purple file. "About a month ago, I was doing some research on the house when I came across the writing on the wall."

"From the Doctor?" John asked.

"Yes," Sally replied. She bit her lips. "The Doctor was a time traveller who got stuck in 1969 because of these creatures called the weeping angels. Aliens from another world."

John raised an eyebrow. "Right…"

"It's true," Larry said. He grabbed a DVD from the shelf and put it into the player. A man's face loomed onto the screen, young and handsome, wearing broad glasses and a brown suit looking very modern, but the footage was old. The man had started talking, as if he was having one half of a conversation. Larry held down the button and skipped a bit of it.

"That's the Doctor?" John asked.

"_Yep, that's me!" _The man on the screen said.

"Okay, that was weird." John said as Larry put the transcript of a conversation in front of him.

"This was a conversation we had with him," Sally said. "Well, it wasn't, but it was. It's all so very confusing."

"_I'm a time traveller, or I was, I'm stuck in 1969-"_

"_We're stuck, all of space and time he promised me, now I've got a job in a shop, I've got to support him!" _A young black woman appeared on the screen alongside the Doctor, looking annoyed.

"_Martha!" _The Doctor cried pointing out presumably towards the camera.

"_Sorry," _Martha muttered before disappearing off the camera.

Larry paused it.

"So this man is stuck in 1969," John said. "Why?"

Sally cleared her throat. "His time machine, the weeping angels wanted it and so they sent him back in time. That's how they kill you. Send you back in time and use up the energy from all the days you could have had."

John laughed, tucking his notebook back into his pocket. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous this sounds?" He asked. "There's no such thing as time travel."

Sally piled the files and photographs back into the folder. "If you're investigating Western Drumlins, please take this with you," She said.

John looked at it. "Sure, whatever." He said. "Thank you for your help anyway,"

Sally moved forward and gave him a hug. "Whatever you do on that house, don't look away from the angels."

…

"Bloody conspiracy freaks," John said entering the flat, finding Sherlock seated with his fingers together and a stony expression on his face. John handed him the folder and went to the kitchen, despairing at the mess that had been left for him to clean up. "Is there anything in? Or should we just order a take-away?"

Sherlock didn't answer. John opened the fridge, trying to ignore the fish eyes and brain parts floating in jars and grabbing a can of coca cola.

"Sherlock?" John asked, heading back through to the front room. "You alright?"

"Fine," Sherlock murmured.

"How's Mycroft?" John asked, sitting down.

Sherlock didn't answer again.

"Did you even go and see him?" John asked, picking up the bills and rifling through them. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded over at the wall where he had stuck hundreds of bits of paper to it, connecting some with red string.

"I see you've had a productive evening," John sighed, getting up and looking at the wall. "The Doctor. Strange sorta man. Does he not have a proper name." John peered closer at the wall seeing a photograph of an elderly gentlemen in a sharp velvet suit and an opera cape along with a man of military standing. "Who are they?" He asked.

"The Doctor and the Brigadier." Sherlock replied.

"No," John laughed. "That can't be the Doctor."

"What, why?" Sherlock looked up.

"Because," John said, picking the file out of Sherlock's hand and opening it. He pulled out a photograph of a screenshot of the man who claimed to be the Doctor. "He says he's the Doctor and he's in 1969. Or was according to Sally Sparrow."

Sherlock took the photograph from his friend.

"So is it a title that's just passed on?" John asked.

"Look at his suit," Sherlock murmured. "Circa 2005, and the glasses, they are not from the sixties either. I need more information."

"This is what Mycroft gave you?" John asked. He followed another red line to a man wearing a ridiculously long scarf with a metal dog. "Who's he?"

"Also the Doctor," Sherlock said.

"No, that's impossible." John said.

Sherlock looked over and gave a small smirk. "How so?"

"Well, the dates don't match up," John observed. "Not to mention, you would think if they were father and son, they'd be a wife, or genetic markers to show it."

"Good," Sherlock muttered. "So that leaves us with what?"

John peered further. "I don't know, maybe it's just given to the next science officer or something."

"Doesn't explain the man in 1969," Sherlock said.

John frowned. "Sherlock, what are you saying?"

Sherlock got off from his chair and moved towards John, pinning the photograph of the suited man to the wall and taking up the red string and attaching it to it.

"I think that they are all the same person," Sherlock said. "Mycroft couldn't give me all the data I wanted, official secrets, boring, but once eliminating the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth."

"You've said that to me before," John said.

"And I was right," Sherlock muttered. "Pass me over the file."

John obliged. "Sally Sparrow and Larry are nutters," He said. "They claimed that this Doctor was an alien and that the stone statues in the house are alien too."

"John, don't be so ridiculous." Sherlock muttered.

"I'm glad you agree with me-"

"There's every possibility that they are aliens, what do you think U.N.I.T and Torchwood were set up for?" Sherlock said scattering the information across the floor. "WHY DOES NO ONE EVER FILE THINGS CORRECTLY?"

"Consider the source." John muttered. Sherlock threw him a dirty look. "I'm just saying you could learn to use the duster."

Sherlock said nothing as he began working silently. John sighed, deciding that it would be a very long night and a bloody long case, so he went off to bed to catch up on some rest and gather energy for the coming days.


	3. The Three Doctors

John found himself outside Cardiff's Millennium centre just as it began to rain. He sighed and zipped up his jacket, shivering slightly, relaying the previous night in his head like a B-rated movie. Sherlock had told him to come here. Specifically here. And here he would meet someone called Martha Jones, last known to have military contact with the Doctor. He pulled out his phone and checked his texts, nothing new.

"Dr Watson?"

John turned and saw the woman who was on the DVD. She had changed a little since then, her hair braided into thin locks and she looked exhausted, as if something was draining the life from her.

"Yes, hello," John held out his hand to shake hers. Martha didn't move.

"Mycroft Holmes called," She said. "Told me I had to meet you."

"Must thank him for that," John said.

"I'm under TORCHWOOD protection," She said, calmly, folding her arms. "I have to warn you that any attempt to harm me or the organisation will be seen as treason."

John opened his mouth and closed it, nodding. "Fair enough. I wasn't going to, but thanks for letting me know."

Martha nodded stiffly.

"I'm actually working on a case, with my friend Sherlock Holmes,"

Martha's demeanour changed again. "I know that name."

"Yes, we've been on the news quite a few times," John said. "Anyway, we were hoping that you could help us find the Doctor."

"Why?"

"We need to ask him questions."

"I gathered. Why?"

"Well," John cleared his throat. "I'm not sure really. But there's a house in Western Drumlins that has a fetish for angels. A lot of people have disappeared over the last couple of years. And Sherlock's been called to help out with the investigation."

Martha sighed, pursing her lips. "Dr Watson. I urge caution. That place… It's a bad place. Full of evil creatures."

"I live with Sherlock Holmes," John smiled, cracking a joke. "I think I can handle a little bad from a scary house."

"You're not getting me," Martha said. "Look, I travelled with the Doctor. I saw wonders beyond imagination, but the weeping angels…" She shook her head.

"You're talking as if they're aliens." John said.

"You could hardly not have noticed." Martha said. "Christmas invasions?"

John looked at her blank.

"Cyberman? Battle at Canary Wharf? Harold Saxon?" Martha tried.

"I got back from Afghanistan almost 14 months ago." John replied stiffly.

"Well, look up the news. Sherlock's an observant man. He surely noticed it." Martha said. "What about the months that no one died?"

"Was a lot of hard work trying to find cases we could solve," John replied. "I wasn't able to buy jam for weeks."

"Sherlock didn't pose a theory?"

"He said boring and proceeded to smoke a lot." John replied. "But then it was fixed and he went straight back on the nicotine patches."

"Like I said, Sherlock would have noticed, it's logical for him to think it. Billions of galaxies, stars, suns, planets? It would be arrogant to believe that we are just coincidence."

"Explains why he was so quick to believe in the possibility of aliens." John said.

"He's a smart man. Either he and the Doctor will get on exceedingly well," She held out a silver flip phone. "Or, the Doctor will hate him."

John took the phone from her. "Thank you," He nodded,

"Please don't contact TORCHWOOD again," Martha told him. "No more favours. I can't protect myself without Jack."

"Who's Jack?" John asked, observing her wedding ring. "Your husband?"

"No." Martha replied. "Jack is a friend. He's probably dead. But if I know him, he 'll find a way to survive. Now go. I don't want to hear from you again." She began to walk off.

"Who do I call?" John shouted after her.

She turned. "Just look under TARDIS!"

John flipped open the phone and began to scroll through the contacts. "What the bloody hell is TARDIS?" He looked up, but Martha Jones had completely disappeared, though there was nowhere for her to go.

…

"_So, what did Martha Jones say?" _Sherlock asked as John boarded the train, his phone in between his ear and his shoulder.

"Not a lot actually," He replied. "The same as Sparrow and Nightingale. A lot about aliens."

He imagined Sherlock pacing the room slightly then Lestrade's voice rang out.

"_Aliens? Jesus god Sherlock, is this a conspiracy case?"_

"_Don't know yet." _Sherlock replied.

"I don't think it is." John said. "Could I get a coffee please?" He asked one of the attendants who nodded.

"_We just need to find the Doctor." _Sherlock muttered.

"Well, Jones gave me a phone," John said. "Apparently the Doctor's number is on here."

"_Recite it to me."_

"_Sherlock, don't you want to get a pen or something?" _Lestrade asked.

John heard Sherlock snort slightly.

"_John, recite!"_

John cleared his throat and read out the number. "She says she hasn't seen him in over three years. Not properly anyway, so it might be a bit of a bust. Especially if he changes his face every so often,"

"_We still have to try," _came Sherlock's reply.

"Okay, I'll be back home soon. Do we have anything in?"

"_I wouldn't know," _Sherlock said.

"Can you not check?"

"_I'll do it," _Lestrade said.

"Thank you," John said leaning back and pressing his fingers on his eyes. From across where he was seated a young red-headed woman in a short mini-skirt nudged the man in a body-warmer who sat beside her.

"_You have some lasagne, two cans of beer, and six cat eyes," _Lestrade said.

"Okay," John said. "I'll get some stuff delivered from Tesco. Thanks Greg. Phone me with any new breakthroughs."

"_Bye,"_

John hung up and put his phone down on the table. The woman and man stood up and were suddenly opposite him.

"Hi," She said. "You don't know us and you probably won't see us after this meeting. But we have something to give you,"

John frowned. "What?"

"This," The man pulled from his body warmer a DVD case and handed it over. "Keep it on you. You'll need it at some time in the future."

"When?" John asked. "And you know… Why?"

"Have you called the Doctor yet?" the woman asked.

John frowned. "Not me, personally, but I suspect my friend has already done it. Anyway, who exactly are you?"

"Friends." The woman replied.

"God I hate it when people say that," John muttered. "Of the Doctors?"

"Yes," the man replied. "Only we don't travel with him as much anymore."

The woman nudged the man in the ribs. "We have to go." She gave him a dazzling smile before grabbing the man's hand and taking off. John looked at the DVD. Things were getting weirder by the second.

…

Sherlock hung up the phone after leaving his name and address. The Doctor had not answered. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his fingertips together.

Ms Hudson came in. "Hello love, I just got some shopping for you. Don't want you starving on the case."

Sherlock gave no reply as she bustled into the kitchen and began to sort food out, ignoring the obvious mess on the counters. A slight wheezing sound as if keys were being dragged on the chords of a grand piano filled the air.

"What's that noise?" Sherlock asked, his eyes still closed.

"I don't know," Mrs Hudson said. "I suspect its leaf-blowers. Silly."

"In Summer?" Sherlock's eyes shot open and he got off the couch and climbed over the table towards the window. He looked out. There was nothing unusual that he saw, save an old Police Box that they used to have in the sixties. "Mrs Hudson?"

Mrs Hudson wandered over.

"Is there anything unusual that you see?" Sherlock asked.

She looked out onto the street. "Not that I can see dear." She said. She gave him a pat on the shoulder and began to leave just as the doorbell rang. Sherlock frowned. It was too soon for it to be John. And why would he ring. It wasn't a half-pressured ring, they had been too excited by the noise and kept pressing it every three seconds before Mrs Hudson opened the door. Not a client, nor John. And obviously not a child, since it was getting late. Foot-falls indicated a clumsy but thin person, not a female. Sherlock turned and saw a gangly young man, with brown hair a dark expression on his face and wearing a tweed jacket and blue bow tie.

"Hello Sherlock Holmes," He said. "I'm the Doctor."


End file.
